For Steven

It's become almost a cliche when it is said that no one has a bigger heart than a biker, but let me tell you about what I've had the honor to be a part of today.  Airman First Class Steven Spencer was a 21 year old Jackson native, and the son of Rob Spencer.  Rob and his girlfriend Amanda are friends of mine and the dealership.  Steven's Aunt Sam worked on the sales staff at the store for a while as well.  Steven was serving our country in the US Air Force at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma City when he and another fellow Airman tragically lost their lives in an accident in the early morning hours the day after Christmas.

Today was Steven's day to come back home to Jackson.  I received a call from Sam asking if the the store could be used as a staging area for a ride down to the airport in Memphis so that Steven could be received and escorted home.  Of course I agreed to this and through email and Facebook we did what we could to get the word out.  The plan was to meet at the store at 2PM and then head out for Memphis at 2:30.  No one had any idea how many bikes would be joining us, but as the noon hour rolled over, it became apparent that the message was circulating.

After a few quick words from Rob, Sam, and others of the contingent of Spencer family members, the group numbering four or five dozen pulled out and headed for I-40 West, under escort from the Jackson Police Department.  We arrived at the Delta Cargo terminal at Memphis International an hour and a half or so later.  Memphis traffic is always a hairy tangled mess to deal with, but trying to keep pace with traffic, dragging fifty to sixty bikes, riding straight into a blinding sunset and get everyone to our destination intact was an effort unto itself.

Upon arrival at the terminal, we were met by several Memphis area members of the Patriot Guard Riders.  These people are an amazing group of men and women who take it upon themselves to create not only a safe haven for the families of deceased service members, but do so for people they've never met.  As we waited for the casket holding AFC Spencer to arrive, I mingled through the crowd.  It should have come as no surprise to me, but many of the people there did not know Steven at all, and several did not know his family.  They just felt the need to do something meaningful for the family of a young man that stepped up to serve his country.

We'd been there for about an hour when the roll up door was raised and out emerged the flag draped casket bearing one of Jackson's native sons, carried by six men, dressed in black leather.  He was led down the ramp to the waiting coach.  His family followed closely behind, holding each other up, and being collectively held up by the contingent of extended family that had made the trip with them, many of whom they did not know they even had a week ago.

When it became time to leave, the group was briefed by our Patriot Guard escort and the Memphis PD that would be getting us out of town.  By now the sun had set, and I was quite apprehensive about the ride back to Jackson.  It was about 5:30 and we should have been hitting the thickest of Memphis rush hour traffic.  I just knew that it would be a white knuckler of a ride.

On the contrary.  With the exception of one mishap leaving the terminal, the group and I experienced a ride like I'd never before been a part of.  I've been on funeral processions and parades before and have ridden under police escort scores of times, but what I experienced this evening floored me.  The Memphis Police Department Motorcycle Squad virtually closed down I-240 from the airport all the way out to the I-40E junction at rush hour.  We rode completely alone along the busiest stretch of interstate during the busiest time of day, as safe as a baby in its mothers arms.  All exits were closed.  If a stray car did happen to find its way onto our path, it either pulled to the side of the road once it saw us or was quickly corralled by one of the motor patrol officers.  Respect. The MPD carried us, untouched nearly to the county line where we were picked up by the Tennessee Highway Patrol and carried to the Jackson City limits where the JPD once again had all exits shut down, awaiting the arrival of its hometown boy.  Off the interstate, up North Highland and into the parking lot of George Smith North Chapel.  Awesome.  Stunning.  Chilling.

Here's what I saw tonight.  I saw the most professional, efficient and courteous police escort from the Memphis Police Department Motor Patrol that I've ever witnessed.  I saw men and women who answer the call immediately for total strangers in order to ensure that their deceased service/family member has the honorable sendoff they deserve.  I saw grown  men holding each other up.  I saw an outpouring of love from total strangers to a family that is seeing its darkest days.  I saw the trembling lip of an otherwise stoic Air Force Airman, in his class A dress blue uniform as he handed over his fallen comrade that he'd been escorting since Tinker.  I saw patriotism, pride, sadness, hope, honor, and most of all, love.

Steven's family and friends will say their final goodbye's to him this Sunday at George A Smith South Funeral home at 2 PM and then his remains will make their final journey on this Earth to Hopewell Cemetery in Medina.  If you can make it, the family would be honored to have you ride in Steven's memory.  If you can't, please remember Rob, Amanda, Sam and the rest of Steven's family in the days, weeks and months to come.  Steven was theirs.  They have shared him with us, and for that I am truly humbled.

Thank you AFC Steven Spencer for your life, your service, and your legacy.  And don't worry about your family.  We'll take care of them.  They're our family too.

Ride Safe and with purpose.

Scott Michael Bumpus

Merry Christmas

I can't lie to you, from the standpoint of a motorcyclist, this has been one of the better Decembers.  I actually got the chance to get out and ride a hundred miles or so this past Monday.  Between the typical December weather and other obligations both in and out of the store, that's nearly unheard of for me.  50 degrees and broken overcast skies presented perfect weather for the big red Road Glide, a heated jacket liner, and a sweatshirt.  I took a ride up to one of my favorite places, Hampton's Store at Skullbone, TN.  I didn't have much time to spend there this trip, but whenever you get the chance, stop in and say Hi to Mr Landon and let him fix you the best rag bologna and salad dressing sandwich on the planet, white bread, of course.  While there, I thought about my good friend and fellow Harley dealer Scott Maddux.  Scott loves Skullbone and I thought back on the great ride he and I and several others made up there this summer, his first actual visit to the place.  Thanks to picture texting, I was able to send Scott a picture of where I was, hoping to include him in the fun.  I snapped the pic and took a look at it.  In that pic, I found another old friend, Click Baldwin. 

Click was another fellow dealer that we lost too early.  More than that, he was my friend.  I soon hopped back on the road, this time, with Click in my head.  It occurs to me, more every time I get out on the bike, that every ride is entwined with the others.  What started out as just a quick spin around a couple of adjacent counties turned into a ride with probably a dozen or so of my best friends, and they weren't even there.  On the surface, it might seem that it started around noon on that cool Monday early this week, but the more I thought and rode, it actually started back in the summer of '08, the trip we lost our dear Click.

I had nearly forgotten that entire trip.  It was the last trip I took out west.  It was only supposed to be a couple days of riding, after our summer dealer show.  A quick flight from Las Vegas up to Salt Lake City to pick up our bikes from my great friend Joe Timmons at HD of Salt Lake (go see Joe whenever you're out that way) and then a ride up through the Tetons in Idaho, into West Yellowstone and finally ending in Billings Montana.  This trip was going to be special because not only was I doing the trip with my wife and two of my brothers, but my Dad was going to be joining us.  The plan was to arrive in Billings, drop the bikes off at Beartooth HD, and fly home the next day.  I sat at the dinner table that night and listened to my Dad talk about his route home that he intended to take.  He was riding back and not flying.  It started to gnaw at me that there was an opportunity before me that I might never get back, another chance to ride with my pop.  I made the decision then and there to call the airline, cancel my flight, get my bike out of the dealership and finish that ride. 

My brothers made the same decision.  And what a ride it was.  Back across the northern plains, through Sturgis, the Badlands, and a stop at my Dad's old abandoned Air Force base.

And remember the things that made our life worth living.

Yeah, that was a great ride.  And it all came back to me because I decided to get out and ride Monday. 

Every ride counts. 

Since it's Christmas, I guess the only thing I can ask of Santa Claus is the opportunity to collect more of those same experiences in the coming year.  To not take for granted a single second that we have on this earth.  My wish for all of you as that you too have the opportunities to take pictures like these..

...The people you love, while doing what you love to do.

Merry Christmas to all of you and thanks for reading.

Scott Michael Bumpus

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the LORD" (Luke 2:11).

Love

It's nearing 11 PM in my hotel room in York, Pennsylvania.  I've been up here for what is my last meeting of Harley-Davidson's North American Dealer Advisory Council.  The DAC is an elected body of 12 Harley-Davidson dealers that represent the dealer network as a whole and serve as a liaison between said network and the leadership of the Harley-Davidson Motor Company in Milwaukee.  We serve a three year term and this is my second term on the council.  We meet quarterly, usually for 3 days in Milwaukee.  This is my first meeting outside the home city.  As you might know, York PA is the location of one of H-D's two major assembly plants.  The York facility dates back nearly 75 years and began its days as a tool and die plant and a bomb factory for the US Military.  Harley began building motorcycles here in the early 1970's and today is the assembly plant for all of Harley-Davidson's Touring, Softail, and Screamin' Eagle CVO models. It was a pleasure getting to spend some time today with Mr Ed MacGee, the general manager of the York plant.  Those of you that pay attention to HD and news of the company know that this plant has gone through quite a shake up in recent months.  The economic climate has been tough on all businesses and Harley-Davidson has not been immune.  Tough decisions have been necessary for the company to stay competitive and to continue to be able to make great motorcycles for all of us to enjoy.  The workforce at York went through a massive transformation, taking it from a lumbering dinosaur of the past, into a lean, effective and efficient manufacturing machine.  I didn't know what to expect when I arrived this morning for the tour.  What I found simply amazed me.  I found a group of a thousand some odd teammates that were aligned and dead set on one goal, to build fantastic motorcycles.  As I wandered the floor, escorted by Ed, I looked into faces of the employees of HD York.  I saw something special.  What I saw is something I'm fortunate enough to see everyday that I spend on the floor of the dealership, something I've grown accustomed to seeing through my time associated with HD.  What I saw, simply stated, was love.

Those of you that ride Harley's know exactly what I'm talking about.  Harley-Davidson is a world renowned brand, one of the top 5 most recognizable.  However, it's so much more than that.  As cliche as it's become, the phrase "If I had to explain, you wouldn't understand" still holds true.  There's something magical in these motorcycles.  There's something special about the life that they facilitate.  But there's even more to it than that.  There's a love amongst those that are a part of "this life".  We don't know all of each other.  I'm friends with literally hundreds of the customers that grace my door every year, but I don't know all of you.  Nor do you know all of each other.  But...there is a love that exists between us.  An unwritten, and unofficial understanding of each other.  A kinship that those outside "our family" might never understand. 

There exists among us a relationship that would make us pull over on a dark night to check on a fellow rider sitting on the side of the road just to make sure they are ok.  We pass each other at the grocery store and happen to notice a logo on a t-shirt, and immediately, nod and say, "hello".  We wave as we pass on a two lane road.  We know what it means to get on and let go.  That mutual feeling, is love.

That loves traces itself back to these motorcycles we love.  These larger than life pieces of art, made of steel.  What a humbling experience to stand on one side of a room, next to huge spools of cold rolled steel and then walk several hundred yards to the other side and see what became of that steel, once stamped, painted, assembled, and yes, loved.

I think back to those faces at York today.  Each of them were working.  They were making a living, feeding their families and providing themselves a place to live. But there was something more.  They loved what they were doing.  Their love and dedication to their jobs and these motorcycles we love is what makes what we do possible.  It provides a living for me and my family and staff at Bumpus HD, and also provides millions an millions of people worldwide with the pinnacle of passion of our lives. 

My friend and Nashville songwriter Walt Aldridge penned a song several years ago called "I Loved Her First", from the point of view of a father giving away his daughter to marriage.  This song occurred to me today.  Rider's, when you walk into your garage and pull your bike out for a spin, I want you to think about something.  You love that bike.  There's a reason you bought it.  You spent untold hours pouring over every detail, every line, every ounce of chrome on it.  It's yours.  What you need to remember is that before you laid your eyes on her, someone at York PA, or perhaps Kansas City, and Menominee Falls Wisconsin poured their heart and soul into her.  Bloody knuckles, tired backs, pure dedication.  They truly loved her first.

Think about those people as you ride.  I bore witness today, that they truly think about you, every screw they turn, every weld, every detail. 

That's what love is about.

Ride Safe,

SMB